Metamorphosis

I'm writing this as I come off of a terrible acid trip. No hallucinations, or just barely. I mean, with acid, you've got to have some hallucinations. I caught myself standing in my doorway feeling absolutely miserable because I heard a voice and I didn't know whether I should follow it or not. I didn't. I stayed put. So there were no consequences, but the actions themselves were scary.

 

That's how it is. That's exactly what my summer has been. A drugged mirage. It's like one of those little silver puddles you see gathered on the highway under the hot, hot heat. You're chasing a dream. It's 100 steps ahead of you and it keeps inching further away as you inch closer. Reality is a silver mirage, a silver edged cloud that you want so, so badly to touch. You want that reality to be yours.

 

But it's temporary. Only temporary bullshit. When reality isn't reality anymore, the only thing that's left is bullshit.

 

How do I wrap myself in a silver lining that I can legitimately feel, permanently, that actually benefits and feeds my thirsting appetite for growth?

 

I'm tossing pennies down a well

To bandage up a bruised spirit

That turned into an insatiable

Wound that ran deep, so

Deep, so deep until the

Circumfrence begins

To disappear as

The well

Closes.

 

And now I'm on the other side.

And there are still lights and beauty and happiness.

And good. There's real good on this side.

 

It all starts with language and the dire need, as a human being, to communicate what really matters. This is my start. This is as real as it gets, the space between my mind and the words on this screen.

 

This is what it's like on the other side of the coccoon.